


The Lesson of the Story

by Azdaema



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Beautiful Golden Fools, Gen, my darling dumbass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-31 22:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17857835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azdaema/pseuds/Azdaema
Summary: When he's sick in bed at age seven, Joanna tells her son a story.(In hindsight, perhaps she shouldn't have.)





	The Lesson of the Story

**Author's Note:**

> _"I am sick of being careful. The Targaryens wed brother to sister, why shouldn't we do the same? Marry me, Cersei. Stand up before the realm and say it's me you want. We'll have our own wedding feast, and make another son in place of Joffrey."_
> 
> Jaime, sweetling… _what in Seven Hells?_ You're a _grown man!_ How can you think this is even within the realm of possibility? But then again, you _did_ grow up on stories of Tarygaryens. So maybe this isn't really too surprising.
> 
> **A note about the timeline:**
> 
>   * This is set a few months _before_ The Incident with Joanna catching the twins playing whatever-the-hell-they-were-getting-up-to.
>   * This is _after_ Tywin first tried to resign as Aerys' Hand, and _before_ he finally successfully quit when Jaime was knighted at 15. So at this during that really awkward time when Aerys is getting increasingly unhinged, and Tywin hates him but is still his Hand.
> 


The fever came upon him in a matter of hours. In the morning Jaime was strong and hale, practicing in the yard with Addam Marbrand. By afternoon he had thrown up twice and was in bed being fussed over by a maester.

Lady Joanna swept into the room. She spoke quietly with the maester for a moment, and in his haze of fever, Jaime did not bother trying to make out their words.

The maester took his leave, and Joanna settled herself into a chair by her son's bedside. "How are you feeling?" she asked him.

"Alright," he replied weekly.

Joanna just smiled, knowing that was a lie. "You know," she began conspiratorially, "I threw up this morning as well."

Jaime merely stared at her a moment, confused. "But you're not sick," he protested. Mother was well. She was up and about, not confined to a sickbed as he was. And she looked _strong_ —she practically glowed golden in the in the mid-afternoon light coming in through the window.

"No," Joanna agreed. "I'm not sick. I'm with child." She smiled at him, brushing a hand over his curls. "You're going to have a little brother or sister."

"A brother!" Jaime said instantly. He already had Cersei—he could never want for any more sister than her. A brother though—he might like a little brother.

"Mayhaps. We'll see." She gave his curls another affectionate smoothing. "Would you like me to tell you a story?"

He nodded.

"What about?"

He thought of the picture Cersei had drawn the other day, of Good Queen Alysanne and King Jaehaerys the Wise on a dragon. "King Jaehaerys," he said.

Joanna sat back in her chair. "Alright. King Jaehaerys." She thought for a moment before she began. "I was twelve years old when Jaehaerys became king. He wasn't supposed to become king—his older brother Duncan was. But Duncan married one of the smallfolk, a girl named Jenny. Jenny of Oldstones, with flowers in her hair. Duncan loved her so much he gave up the throne to marry her."

This wasn't the same Jaehaerys as Cersei's picture, then. Numbering the kings was always the worst part of history lessons, but King Jaehaerys the Wise and Good Queen Alysanne had ridden dragons, and even Jaime—who was not as good at remembering histories as Cersei was—knew there hadn't been dragons in his mother's lifetime. Jaime did not object, though—one Jaehaerys was as good as another.

"Jaehaerys had been betrothed to a Tully girl. But after his brother married Jenny, Jaehaerys broke his betrothal and married his sister Shaera in secret, for he had loved her since they were children. Their father the king was furious, but by the time he found out, it was too late—they were already wedded and bedded. And so he was forced to accept it."

"Why was the king angry?"

"He had arranged for Jaehaerys and Shaera to marry into other houses. Those houses were very angry when they broke their betrothals."

"But why didn't Jaehaerys and Shaera get betrothed to each other _first_?"

Joanna considered the question. "Their father was trying to do away with incest. He had been squire to a hedge knight when he was young. He was closer to the smallfolk; less Targaryen—I suspect that's why."

"The smallfolk don't like incest," Jaime said gravely, with the odd solemnity of a child.

That made Joanna laugh. " _Nobody_ likes incest except the Targaryens." Suddenly, she sobered. "Jaime, your father is Hand of the King. You know what that means, don't you?"

"He's the king's helper. Like his squire!"

"That's right. And King Aerys is married to his sister, Queen Rhaella." Joanna's voice was serious now. "Do you remember when we went to court last year for the tourney? Do you remember meeting the king?"

Jaime nodded, shifting uncomfortably under the blankets. He did not remember the king's face—he remembered horses at the tourney far more than he remembered any of the people—but he remembered that the king had said _something_ , and he could recall his mother's unease, and his father's rage, and his sister squeezing his hand.

"You will see him again someday, I am sure." His mother's gaze was unflinching, and Jaime could tell she was trying to impart something important to him. "Respect the king. _Remember_ this, Jaime. Aerys angers easily. Don't say anything about incest to the king."

"Because the king has power?"

"Yes," his mother agreed. "Because the king has power."

"So he can do as he likes?"

"Often, _yes_ ," Joanna said simply.

The boy frowned. "But don't we have power too?"

Joanna gazed at her son an instant longer, then broke into sudden laughter. The tension in the room was broken. "Oh sweetling. We are not kings just yet." She bent over and kissed her son's forehead. "Give your father a little time."

She ran a fond hand over Jaime's head again, and with that, she carried on, returning to the story about Jaehaerys and the War of the Ninepenny Kings. But Jaime's mind was far away.

Oh, to be a Targaryen! If he was a Targaryen, Jaime thought—not the kind like King Aerys, the _proper_ kind, like the Dragonknight—he would marry Cersei and they would ride dragons. Riding a dragon would be like riding a horse, but even better—a dragon would not get frightened by a tree's rustling leaves and bolt.

But the dragons were all gone. Even if he _were_ a Targaryen, it was too late for _that_. Jaime was already drifting off into hazy dreams before his mind returned to Jaehaerys. Jaehaerys had been born too late for dragons too, but he had still married his sister Shaera. Jaime recalled his mother's words: _"By the time their father found out, it was too late—they were already wedded and bedded. And so he was forced to accept it."_

So _that_ was the trick of it: Even if they said you could not marry, if you did it quick, before they could stop you, then they would be forced to let it stand. Jaime could be _very_ quick—his master-at-arms had told him so just yesterday.

He would have to remember to tell Cersei this when he was well again.


End file.
